Pressure Point
by superhawkk
Summary: Mycroft closed his eyes, a look of pain resting on his usual bored face, "I asked you a question, who is Katie?" He braced for what he knew was coming. "Kathleen Louise Holmes, Iceman, your daughter."
1. Chapter 1

Mycroft was in his private office when he took the call. It was from a blocked number, which wasn't completely unusual in his line of work. What was unusual was the voice on the other end. American male, aged 18-24, stressed… really stressed, and crying. "I need to speak to Mr. Mycroft Holmes right away." the man practically sobbed. Mycroft took an annoyed breath, "speaking" he said as he leaned back in his chair moving his eyes lazily to the ceiling. _Don't I have secretaries for this kind of thing_, he thought to himself. "Sir, they are going to kill her, she can't take much more of this, she's going to die." Still staring at the ceiling, "I think you may have the wrong Holmes, can I give you his number?" "NO, forgive me sir, but you don't understand, It's Katie, they keep running these tests on her and they are going to kill her." Mycroft froze. "Who?" he asked even though he saw her face clear as day. The man on the other side of the phone dropped his head and sighed, Mycroft could hear the side of his face rub the receiver. The disappointment and regret was clear in his voice, "You know she said she was worse than dead to you -that she never existed, said you wouldn't save her if she was poisoned and you had the antidote in you palm. I didn't believe her, I've heard of your reputation of course even all the way over here." Mycroft closed his eyes, a look of pain resting on his usual bored face, "I asked you a question, who is Katie" Mycroft braced for what he knew was coming. "Kathleen Louise Holmes, Iceman, your daughter."

It was a relatively quiet morning in 221B, quiet for Sherlock anyway. It has been 8 months since his harrowing experience with his sister and her final problem. John is in the process of moving back in, with Rosie of course. Sherlock had been asking, near to begging for months. The flat was too quiet without him, and he had only successfully won John over by moving his makeshift lab out of the kitchen and to the room downstairs and cleaning and baby proofing the rest of the flat. "I don't know Sherlock, she's still just a baby, she makes a mess and a lot of noise, I don't know how you will feel about this when we are all up at 3am with her screaming bloody murder, there's no off switch you know." John had the blonde headed toddler on his hip walking around the clean flat. "All the more reason for you to not do it yourself." Sherlock said from the doorframe. Hearing a quiet giggle Sherlock shook the memory of the conversation from his head and focused his eyes on the source of the noise. Sitting on the carpet in front of him was the baby without an off switch. Not that she was much of a baby anymore. Rosie smiled at Sherlock, happy to have gained his attention and crawled toward him, babbling she reached a chubby little hand towards his leg and pulled herself to her knees in front of his chair. Gripping onto a pant leg she grunted and squinted her eyebrows together looking oh so much like her father until she managed to pull herself to her feet. "Well, hello there little one. When did you learn how to do that?" He smiled at the child standing between his knees. Sherlock was on babysitting duty while John packed the home. John had only agreed to move back in if Sherlock consented to watching her while he went through the house and sorted what to keep and what to get rid of. Sherlock felt like it was a test to see if he could handle being around a baby for extended periods of time. Normally he would have nothing to do with this, but this wasn't any baby, this was Rosie. She smiled again and reached both hands towards Sherlock, grunting and opening and closing her fist. Sherlock snickered and reached down, lifting the toddler into his lap and rubbing her back gently. She settled into the crook of his chest, he moved his hand to brush the blonde curls out of her eyes. "What do you want to do today, hmm? Surely there is some trouble that we can get into while daddy is gone." She squirmed on his lap pushing against his chest until she was far enough back to be eye to eye. Sherlock couldn't help but admire the beautiful child in front of him. Had you told him a year ago that he would be in his flat with a giggling toddler in his lap and there was not a gun at his head he would have probably insulted you in a varying number of ways and had Myrcroft ruin your credit score. But here he was watching the light from the window dance across her cheeks and rest in her eyelashes, he knew that there was not anything he wouldn't do for her. Sherlock was a fairly protective man when it came to his friends and family, though he didn't really know that until John came into his life. But this was different. This wasn't 'hurt my friend and I will hurt you' love, this was 'hurt her and I will set the world on fire' love. Sherlock had never felt anything like it and wasn't sure he would ever feel it again. "Well, Watson?" he bounced his legs slightly, "what do we want to do today?" She giggled, pulling her fingers from her mouth, and threw her body into his chest with a surprising amount of force for such a little thing, hugging her arms around his neck. Rosie was a very affectionate child to those she was comfortable with. She seemed to have a new level of affection when Sherlock was around though. It was much to everyone's amusement that the one person who didn't want to be touched was wrapped around the finger of a baby that was happiest reaching or clinging to him. "Take her to the park Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's voice traveled up the stairs and over the baby gate. "It's a beautiful day and both of you could use some fresh air." Sherlock thought about it a moment, coming up with nothing better. He stood up, scooping Rosie up with him and walked to John's room to fetch her shoes. "Park it is Watson!"

Passing Mrs. Hudson in the hall she gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek and Sherlock a pat on the arm. "The best thing you did was convince him to move back home you know, even Rosie has been in higher spirits." Sherlock smiled and shifted her in his arms. "I'm happy they are here too." Stepping out of the door and turning towards the park that was only a few mins away Sherlock took a deep breath and felt his muscles relax slightly in the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. A sunny summer day in London was to be treasured indeed. 

John sighed as he opened their closet… his closet. Running a hand over his tired face he mentally contemplated putting this off another day. He had been productive today, sorted the Kitchen and the Den called the local donation center and arranged for the items and furniture he no longer had a use for to be picked up the following afternoon, but those rooms had been shared spaces -not as intimate, not only hers. I'll just grab mine, take it back to the flat and sort the rest tomorrow he decided. He knew he would regret not doing it when he laid down tonight but he couldn't force himself to do it. Not right now. Grabbing an armful of his hanging clothes he stuffed them, hanger and all, into the box on the mattress. He had just grabbed the last armful when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Folding the flaps of the box in he reached for his phone, it was a text from Mrs. Hudson. Swiping the message open he saw she had sent him a picture of Sherlock and Rosie. They were in the hall, Rosie in his arms and holding onto his shoulder, head thrown back in laughter and a warm smile on Sherlock's face. John couldn't help but grin at the sight. Who would have known that the great Sherlock Holmes would have gone soft for a child. Just when he was about to put the phone back in his pocket another msg popped up under the photo. "I suggested they go to the park and enjoy this weather, you'll find them there if you were coming back anytime soon." John moved his eyes back to the picture. Happiness. He could see it shining in both of their eyes. He couldn't find himself to join, not today, not surrounded by his dead wife's things. He typed a quick reply "I would hate to ruin their fun. I'll check in later." Send. Tossing his phone to the empty dresser top next to him he bent to the bottom of the closet to start grabbing his shoes.

Mycroft rolled down the window of the car as Sherlock and the Watson child approached the sidewalk to cross to the park on the other side of the car. "Get in Sherlock." He watched his brother roll his eyes. "Go away, I am busy." He moved past the car. Mycroft sighed, opening the door and stepping out. "This is important, brother mine, we need to talk." Mycroft didn't have to see Sherlock's face to know he rolled his eyes again. "I implore you to look up the difference between need and want Mycroft." walking towards the entrance of the park. "Sherlock please." the slight wobble in Mycroft's voice forced Sherlock to a halt and with a sigh he turned on his heel. "Fine, but Rosie wants to swing so you'll have to talk there." Mycroft shut the door of the car and walked toward the pair "Then swing she shall."

Sherlock carefully put the child in the baby swing and snapped the belt around her waist. Her chunky legs stuck out the bottom and she kicked her feet in excitement. Mycroft observed the gentle smile that crossed his brother's face as he talked to the cooing baby. _How much he had changed in the last year. How much a child changes things_. He couldn't help but feel the irony of the situation. He was about to tell his brother of the child he abandoned in front of the child his brother had adopted. Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, whatever it is, it has you more shook than Eurus did, so spit it out. Might as well get it over with", he gave the Watson child a small push. Mycroft adjusted his grip on his cane and locked eyes with his brother. "Her name is Kathleen."


	2. Chapter 2

John struggled up the stairs careful not to drop the box full of clothes and shoes he had packed a few hours before. Passing through the door frame he wrestled with the baby gate until it gave free. "No it's okay, I don't need any help." Dropping the box on the floor with a little more force than necessary he finally turned to face the sitting room. He was surprised to see Mycroft in his chair twirling his cane in his fingers, paying no mind to John as he continued to stare at Sherlock. Sherlock sat in his own respective seat, his elbows propped on the side fingers resting against each other forming the shape of a pyramid against his mouth, his eyes closed. _Well, that can't be good_. John walked further into the room, "So you two are talking to each other again?" Sherlock expelled a breath out his nose. _Maybe not then_. "Sherlock, where is Rosie?" Continued silence. John really wasn't in the mood. "Sherlock!" "Keep your voice down John, you will wake her." Sherlock finally opened his eyes and looked towards John. "She's fine, taking a nap in her crib the door is open and the baby monitor is just there." He gestured to the small device next to his chair. John relaxed a bit, "You got her to nap?", with an impressed tone. "He exhausted her," Mycroft spoke from his seat, "then again, my brother does has that effect on people." Sherlock rolled his eyes for what must have been the 100th time that morning.

"Yeah, okay. What's going on?", John tried again. If Sherlock was exhausting, Mycroft was absolutely arduous. "I have a niece," Sherlock said, settling his eyes on Mycroft. "Yeah.." John tried to connect the dots. Of course, he had a niece. Rosie was his niece and godchild. John thought that they were comfortable in their routine of life since Rosie was born. Was he still coming to grips? _Did I pack my house for bloody nothing?_ "Not Rosie, Dr. Watson, an actual niece, my daughter," Mycroft stated from the couch clearly tired of John's inner monologue. Letting the 'actual niece' comment go, John couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in absolute shock. "Oh my God, are you serious." John moved his eyes from Mycroft to Sherlock and back to Mycroft waiting for the punchline. Now was Mycroft's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes Dr. Watson, you having a child of your own, and being a doctor none the less would have led me to think you knew how one would go about having a child." Sherlock shot up from his chair. "Don't worry John, just because he has a child doesn't mean he's a father." Mycroft bounced then end of the cane against his shoe. "And what, pray tell, would you know about being a father?" "All right you two, that's enough," John ever the referee.

Turning his back on Sherlock, who had trudged into the kitchen, John looked at Mycroft. "What has happened then?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question. "Come on Mycroft, you aren't one to share information unless you are backed in a corner or Sherlock's life is at risk, so come on, spit it out." John echoed Sherlock's words from earlier in the park. "My daughter is in danger." John couldn't help but stand a little taller and set his shoulders. "Her name is Kathleen, she's been taken from her post within the CIA and is being held by a party not yet known to me." Sherlock walked back into the room, a cup of tea in his hand. "Mycroft is asking for our help, but refuses to give us any useful information, per usual." Mycroft takes a deep breath a look of exasperation taking control of his face. "I'm trying to protect her, Sherlock." Sitting back in his seat Sherlock takes a sip of his beverage, "Yes, of course, because you have done such a great job of that so far." John sits at the table, the gravity of the situation taking rest on his shoulders, "Why was she with the CIA? -Why wasn't she with you?" John can feel his paternal instincts taking control. "Because Sherlock is right. She is my child but I was never her father", something close to shame glints over his features before he clears his voice and shifts in his, well, John's seat. John cuts his eyes to Sherlock curious if he had seen it. He had. "How old is she?", John asks. "Old enough to know better", Mycroft mumbles to himself before turning his attention to John still seated at the table. "She's 24." "And, uh, is she like you and Sherlock or like Eurus?", John asked drumming his fingers on the table. Sherlock looked up curious about the answer as well. "It would seem that the women in our family tend to be a great deal smarter than us," he looked at Sherlock, "But to answer your question, Dr. Watson, she is not a threat of National Security. Not unless she is feeling bored, of course." John sat back in his chair, relieved. "So what are we going to do?" Mycroft opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock beat him to it. "Mycroft is going to sit by the phone and wait for the kidnapper's call." Mycroft shut his mouth in annoyance. "Then", Sherlock continued, "He is going to give them whatever it is they want." John pursed his lips slightly letting that sink in his brain, "If they haven't made contact yet, then how do you know that she's been taken?" "I received a phone call from a very upset young man last night stating and I quote: Sir, they are going to kill her, she can't take much more of this, she's going to die." John felt his eyes bug out of his head, "How are you just sitting here?!" His left hand balled into a tight fist on the table. "Ah, there we go, welcome to the conversation, John." Sherlock quips from his seat, finishing off his tea. "We are sitting here Dr. Watson because the boy gave me no viable information before, what I can only imagine, he was shot." John looked to Sherlock. Before another question could be asked, Mycroft's phone began lightly chirping in his breast pocket, demanding his attention. Sherlock rocketed out of his chair and over to Mycroft who stood up with the phone in his hand, "It's a video from another blocked number." John moved closer. "Play it.", Sherlock said. All three of them noticed the shake in Mycroft's hand as he moved his finger to the screen and press play.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Mycroft pressed play he felt the air vacuum out of his lungs. A shaky frame takes a moment to focus but we see a woman, young adult fitting his daughter's age strapped to a rusty metal chair in a seemingly empty warehouse. Her arms and legs are bound, clothes ripped and bloody, from the angle her head is bend over towards her lap, the vertebrae of her spine protrude through the skin showing malnutrition. A man steps in front of her from out of the frame and lands a blow across her cheek. As fast as lightening her head snaps back and blood squits from her nose. She leans back, lifting her eyes to her captor and her face is finally seen. Mycroft didn't want to believe it. He knew of course, how impractical it was to have hope that the girl on the video wouldn't be her. All the signs pointed to the fact that it was her. He felt the calmness he had inhabited before shatter around him. He never spent much time with her, never even been to a birthday party, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of dread crawling up the walls of his belly. Fear for his child.

With the woman's head up and facing the general direction of the camera John and Sherlock could see that this was in fact Mycroft's child. Her hair was matted and tangled around her face but you could still see a tinge of reddish-brown hair and a nose that was -at this point very swollen but tipped down slightly in the center. But the green-blue eyes that locked onto her captor put any question to rest, she was a Holmes. The man roughly grabbed her face and tilted it up towards him, "Tell me what I want to know and daddy dear won't have to reunite with a corpse." Sherlock watched your brow twitch in aggravation. "If you wanted me to play nice you shouldn't have killed my mother." She spat a mixture of blood and spit into his face. Another blow to the face. John raises a hand to his face and takes a step back. "I can't, I can't watch this." He turns on his heel and walks down the hall towards Rosie.

Sherlock feels the tension radiating off his brother in waves, had it been any other situation he would have found it absolutely nauseating but he couldn't find himself to comment on it. Not with the woman on the screen, Katie, he had said she went by -taking yet another blow to the face. Finally, she slumps over, blacking out. The abuser walks to the camera, takes it off the table or tripod he had it sitting on and angles it towards his face. "You know what I want Mycroft Holmes, either you or Kathleen here are going to give it to me." He turns the camera back towards Kathleen moving it closer so that Mycroft and Sherlock can see the extent of her trama. Quickly he moves it back to his face, now standing in the light it's clear that he is a white man, mid to late 40s and American, by the sound of his voice. I'll be sending you an invite soon. "Bring what I want or I'll kill her." The video cuts and the screen goes black.

Mycroft stumbles a bit, numbly puts the phone back in his pocket and sits/falls into the chair behind him. Sherlock begins pacing around the flat. Questions and theories flickering behind his eyes. He is seemingly only struggling with where to begin. Mycroft beats him to it, "She said that he killed her mother." Sherlock turns to him and waits for him to continue. "Her mother died years ago, in a car accident." "Are you sure that it was an accident?" Mycroft swallows, unsure. "I need to get to the office and do some digging. I will send over anything I find useful." He's up and making a hasty getaway towards the door. "Send everything Mycroft. It's all useful." With a subtle nod in reply, he's down the stairs and into an unmarked car pulling away from the curb.

Sherlock stands in an empty sitting room, his brain spinning with thoughts so fast he can hardly keep up. A few years ago he would have found a puzzle like this absolutely joyful but the weight of the last few years sitting on his shoulders he approaches the problem very aware of how quickly a life can be lost. Hearing a quiet noise to his left he turns to see John walking down the hall, after checking on Rosie, opening and closing his fist in a show of strong emotion. He flops down in his seat Mycroft had been occupying and Sherlock continues pacing the carpet. "I'm not even upset that he kept another secret after everything we went through with Eurus, I'm bloody furious that he let it get to this." Sherlock hums in acknowledgment making another lap.

Kathleen jerks out of unconscious with a groan. After a deep breath, she does a mental scan of her body to find out if it is as bad as it feels. Sitting bound in her seat she starts at the crown of her head and moves her attention down. Her left eye is swollen shut and she feels a gash on her cheekbone bleeding down her neck, her nose is very very broken, busted lip, shoulder out of the socket, broken left wrist, maybe a rib or two. But her legs felt fine, other than the tight restraints at her ankles. _That's good, _she thought _I'll need my legs to fight my way out of here. _Looking around through one eye she scans her location. Warehouse: empty, old but clean, not used for years, but no signs of neglect or abandonment. Someone was keeping it up. For what? Field trips like this? She tries to listen to her surroundings. She hears evidence of civilization but not loud enough to be in the city. If she wasn't beaten to a pulp, half-starved, and tied to a chair she might have even found it peaceful. Her moment is ruined when she hears the door slide open at the far end of the building and she turns her head slightly to see a man walk in. The douche that has been beating the living hell out of her. Great. He looks stressed, just got off the phone with his boss? Handler? Things are not going to plan. She can't help the smirk pull at her lips slightly.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, what's wrong hun?" Kat couldn't help but taunt the make as he nears, "Daddy not playing ball?" She smirks, "I told you asshats, he doesn't give a shit about me. If he did, don't you think I would be protected by her majesty and country?" She spits in a mock English accent. The man's footsteps echo in the empty warehouse -louder still as he near stomped in frustration. When he reached her his hand slipped under her jaw, anchoring her face up to meet his. "You think you are so clever, all of you Holmes do. The one thing you miss," he leans closer like a drama queen, Kat rolls her eyes and his jaw flexes in anger, "The one thing you miss, he states through clenched teeth, "Is that no matter how much you all claim hate each other, you love each other more." He smirked at her and let her face go with a bit more force than needed. "It is the drama of every family, and while you freaks may not be human, you are family." Kat took in a deep breath and leaned back in her seat, trying to look at ease in her constraints, "You are forgetting one thing yourself, he never wanted me." She's trying to anger the man. Even if she wasn't raised by her father or his family, no denying that she is one of them. "Well," the man smiled slowly, the darkness in his eyes dancing with mirth, "I suppose it is a good thing that he doesn't care, seeing as everyone who has claimed to love you is dead." Kat can't help the shocked expression snap across her face like a rubber band stretched too tight. "Oh yeah," he glows with a sick excitement, "I almost forgot to mention, your little boy toy got in the way, 'fraid we had to shut him up." Kat sees red as she slams her forehead into the man leaning down in front of her, he falls back on his ass and laughed wiping the blood from his lip. "Don't get me in the mood love." I would hate to get start the party before daddy got here." He stood up, dusted himself off and grabbed a needle and syringe from the table next to her. Kat felt fear climb it's way up her spine like it was a rope ladder. She's tied to a metal chair that's bolted to the floor, the knots are too tight -she's tried them for hours. She's stuck, her training is telling her to bolt, attack, do something, but she can't. She's prey to this monster and all she can do is fight against the dark as he injects her and the room fades to black.

Mycroft's employees give him a wide berth as he stormed into his office. "I want every single thing we have on Kathleen Holmes sent to 221B Baker St now." Most of his employees scurried off to complete the task given to them, knowing not to test their senior. Most of them. One man, a new man, Mycroft deduced, did not follow the lead of his peers. "But sir, he began, "This is national secrets, I know she's your daughter but I don't think.." He did even get a chance to finish his sentence before Mycroft pulled the blade out of his umbrella and lined it up against the adam's apple of his throat. "You are not employed to think, only to do as I say." He applied a little more pressure, "Do you think you are able to do that?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow waiting for his answer. "Ye.. Yes sir", he stuttered. "Very well," Mycroft took a step back, sheathed his blade, "get to work."

John felt his stomach drop with every file he read. Sherlock had taken to pinning all the data and pictures to the wall behind the couch. "Sherlock, she's been through so much. How could Mycroft just sit by?" Sherlock is on his 100th lap around the living room, "I don't know, John." John stops his eyes focusing on one file above the rest. "Jesus, she was just a kid for most of this." Sherlock stops pacing with the file in his hand and pulls in a deep breath. "John, she knew Mary." John turns on his heel, "What?" Sherlock hands the file to him, "Mary was part of the team that broke her out CIA facility. She saved her, they worked together, for years it looks like." John can't believe what he's looking at. He knew so little of Mary's past. He was shocked to turn the page and see a photo of Kathleen and Mary in training gear. They were both smiling, happy in each other's company. "Mary protected her, they protected each other", John looks up at Sherlock file still in his hands, "Do you think she can tell us about Mary, about her past?" Sherlock took the file back, "We have to find her first." 


End file.
